


Glory and Gore

by drdblack27



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Consensual Violence, Enemies and Lovers, Explicit Language, F/M, Injury, Songfic, greens - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29968317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drdblack27/pseuds/drdblack27
Summary: It disgusts her. It’s sick, and wrong, God, so terribly wrong, like a drug.She’s addicted to his violence, to his fury. She hates him more than anything in the world, but he gives her what she craves the most.That feeling.Only Butch knows the feeling.
Relationships: Butch & Buttercup Utonium, Butch/Buttercup Utonium
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Glory and Gore

“Oh, no.”

Buttercup cracks a brow at Robin, drinking her beer, confused as her friend’s blue eyes widen at something behind her.

“What?” Buttercup asks, a little louder due the music, and turns around to look, only to Robin hold her shoulders and preventing her to do it. The green Puff chuckles, patting the girl’s hand with the one that’s not holding the beer. “Robin, what is it?”

“Nothing!” she quickly dismisses it, shaking her head, her long hair like a curtain. “Hey, let’s get a drink for me, I’m thirsty.”

They make their way through the party, approaching the kitchen, and find Mitch, Boomer and Brick chatting, the red Ruff sitting on the sink, holding a joint, while the other two boys are laughing at something.

“Ruffs.” Robin greets them, looking directly at Mitch, and he straightens his posture, cleaning his throat (Boomer and Brick laugh at this). “Mitch.”

“Robin.” He smirks at her while she passes by him to the fridge, getting a beer. He keeps looking at her back when Buttercup breathes louder, making the boy look at her as caught. “Hey, BC, didn’t see you there.”

“Of course not, you were busy checking the brand of Robin’s jeans.” She whispers, leaning against the door frame, a playful smile on her lips, and again the Ruffs laugh. “It’s a Levi’s, by the way.”

“Yeah.” Mitch nods, his cheeks a little red, and Robin passes by him again, both looking into each other eyes for a second.

“Let’s go?” she asks Buttercup, and turns around again to see Mitch exhaling the smoke on the air, biting her lips.

Buttercup shakes her head. “Go ahead, I remembered I have something to talk about with Boomer.”

“You do?” Robin asks, trying to decipher her friend’s expression.

“You do?” Boomer asks too, more confused than usual.

“I do! I’ll catch up with you in a second.” Buttercup pushes Robin’s hips into the entrance, using zero force, and her friend laughs before reentering the living room in Harry’s house. She finds herself alone with them, and puts her hands on her hips. “I lied, Boomer. So, Mitchelson, when the fuck you’re gonna do something about this?”

“About what?” Mitch passes the joint to Boomer, who is still confused.

“About Robin, dumbass. She wants you. As fuck. You should know by now, or maybe the weed ate your brain?” Buttercup explains, and Brick smirks.

“Yeah, man, it’s pretty damn obvious. You saw how she looked at you.” The red Ruff says, adjusting his red cap over his hair.

Mitch stops for a second, blinking slowly, looking from one super powered to another. Boomer exhales the smoke in his direction.

“Hey! Earth to Mitch, do something, man!” Buttercup takes a step closer, slapping his cheek, pretending to wake him up.

“Fine! I’ll do it. You better not to be wrong, BC.” Mitch says, getting the joint again, smoking it three times and putting it on her hand, passing by them to the living room.

“Use protection!” she shouts, laughing, looking at the joint on her hand. Then, shrugging, she smokes it.

“Whoa, a Powerpuff girl using drugs? Am I super high, or is this real?” Boomer asks, laughing, and Buttercup smiles at him, joint hanging from her lips.

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that, Buttercup.” even Brick can’t disguise a look of surprise.

“Just because you fuck my sister doesn’t mean you should start acting like her, Flame Boy.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes, exhaling the smoke in his direction. Boomer laughs loudly, and she turns at him. “The warning is for you too, Pikachu.”

“Just trying to avoid a diplomatic crisis, dear sister-in-law.” Brick fakes a polite tone; his red eyes narrowed a tiny bit with irritation. “And don’t say I’m _fucking_ her, seems like I’m an asshole or something.”

“You’re not? Well, that explain why she’s so pissed all the time. Maybe she needs a good head, y’know.” Buttercup laughs, passing the joint to him.

“I’m _dating_ her. The rest is implicit.” Brick answers, but smiles a tiny bit. Dealing with Buttercup can be difficult at time from time, the way she seems to pass all the boundaries and act… like one of the boys.

“Anyways, if you want to avoid something, just remember to keep that motherfucker away from me.” Buttercup looks at Boomer, that widens his blue eyes and nod, looking at his older brother. “By the way, is he here?”

“Yeah. I think so. But we didn’t come together.” Boomer answers, watching the green Puff as she nods, taking a sip of her beer.

“I’ll need to be extra careful, then.” Buttercup mumbles, looking straight forward the living room, expression dark for a millisecond – what makes the brothers exchange a preoccupied look – but in the end she smiles at them and wink, exiting the kitchen.

With some difficulty she finds Robin and Mitch, talking very closely on the other side of the dark living room, the girl laughing at something and getting quiet the moment Mitch puts a lock of hair behind her ear. They look at each other for a second and Robin takes the initiative, closing the space between them in an almost desperate kiss, not before putting her beer on the floor.

Buttercup shakes her bottle. Empty. She doesn’t know how many she already drank that night, and that weed must be expensive, because her head is extra light and she’s feeling _good_ , so she makes her way to the couple just to pick the beer on the floor, silently – not that anything would disturb them, now that they are entwined by their tongues.

“Job here is done.” She whispers to herself, walking between people and drinking her beer. She wonders where her sisters are right now – maybe Bubbles’ with the cheerleaders, and Blossom is somewhere with her nerdy friends, when someone grabs her by the waist and slams her into the wall, catching her by surprise.

The yelp Buttercup lets her throat produce is heard by none, due the music. As she opens her eyes, fist ready to punch any idiot that dared to touch her, she freezes.

“Didn’t know you acted like cupid now, Sugar.” He’s totally pressed against her, with a little more force than a normal person would, as if trying to crush her between his chest and the wall.

Obviously, she wasn’t careful enough.

“Sugar’s my sister.” Buttercup manages to speak, trying to hide the trembling in her voice, because he caught her off guard. She tries to look around, in search for one of her sisters, her friends, _anyone_ , to save her, but he’s blocking her vision, pressing her, the entirety of the front of her body in contact with his, her chest against his, even legs, while he has both hands firmly on her waist.

“Right. You’re _spicy_.” He whispers on her ear, voice husky, and a shiver passes through her spine – she can’t avoid it, the sensations he produces on her.

He. _Butch_.

“Get off me.” Buttercup says, looking into his eyes, raising her fist again, pulling his hair, always messy, but always soft. Butch smirks.

“If anyone saw you doing that, they would assume you’re about to kiss me.” His face that is already closer, gets a little more, and their noses are touching. “I’ve been watching you all night long, y’know.”

Buttercup immediately remembers the expression Robin made just minutes ago.

“Why for?” she asks, and one of his hands go to her jaw, holding firmly. Butch’s staring into her eyes, his almost glowing in the dark.

“You know why for.” He whispers again, nuzzling his nose on hers.

“I really don’t.” Buttercup fakes her most unimpressed expression, but his hand lowers to her neck, pressing a bit, and Buttercup wants to fucking _die_ when a choked moan slips from her mouth.

“Then I’ll show you, Spicy.” Butch says, mouth now touching her ear, his hot breath on the left side of her face, and Buttercup closes her eyes and bites her lip with such strength it might bleed, as one of his thighs parts hers and presses into her core.

_There's a hummin' in the restless summer air/ And we're slippin' off the course that we prepared / But in all chaos there is calculation / Droppin' glasses just to hear them break / You've been drinkin' like the world was gonna end (it didn't) / Took a shiner from the fist of your best friend (go figure) / It's clear that someone's gotta go / We mean it, but I promise we're not mean_

“I dare you.” He says, narrowed forest eyes and devilish smirk.

“Get lost.” She spits, pointing at him while holding a bottle of beer. He pulls her a little bit just to hit her back against the wall again.

“What are you, afraid? Afraid of pissing off Pinkie? Afraid I’m going to kick your pretty ass and break all of your bones?” he whispers, face millimeters of hers, and she’s holding the bottle so tightly it cracks. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking of it. Dreaming. That I’m not kicking your ass, but spanking it, and you scream…”

“I swear to God.” She whispers, fluorescent green eyes starting to sparkle, and she raises her fist on his throat level, touching it just a bit, feeling his heart on the carotid artery. “I’m fucking ripping your face off.”

“You won’t. You’re afraid, like the little whining bitch you are, and you won’t do shit.” He replies, hoarse voice, eyes intense against hers.

Buttercups shakes with hate. She hates Butch, hates him, hates his brothers, the Devil who brought him to life, and hates how easily is for her to lose control next to him, how his voice disturbs her and how she thinks of murder and other things every time he’s close.

“C’mon, Buttercup. C’mon.” he insists, eyes still leveled with hers, which means he has to bend down a little, cornering her against the wall, one arm around her waist, holding her firmly. “Fight me, I know you want to, I know you, you’re _dying_ to hurt me just like I’m dying to hurt you.”

Butch’s right. It’s been almost two months that they haven’t sparred, just ignoring each other, since they destroyed part of the East side of school – thankfully, no one got hurt, beside them - and both their older siblings went crazy over them. They managed to get out of detention because Ms. Keane knew better than putting the two together on the same room after classes, and for the last days the air is simply sticky, heavy around them, because they _need_ to fight, they were born for this, he’s insulting and disgusting and his purpose in life is to make _her_ life a living hell, whenever he can, no matter what Brick says.

And she’s really, really _dying_ to get her hands on him, rip every single cell that makes his body, make him regret ever returning to life, regret every day he wakes up and opens his eyes, want to split his head on two, burn his entire body, watch as he dissolves in ashes.

His eyes, at the same time frightening, have a tiny glimpse of need, and she knows he’s begging to her in his own sick way. Her own bright eyes lower to his mouth, sinfully close to hers, and he smirks, showing one of his canines, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. She looks up again.

“I do. I fucking do.” Buttercup confesses, voice weak and nodding ever so slightly, eyes not leaving his this time, and she can’t even hear the song that is playing on Harry’s speakers, nor anyone on the room – it’s just Butch and her, their private universe, like when they start a havoc. The only thing her superhearing can notice is the sound of his heart beating, his breathing, his fists clenching, exactly how she is at the moment.

“What’s the matter? You’re not doing it because you’re a _good girl?_ ” he asks, threatening, and it makes Buttercup _insane_ , the bottle now cracked and she really wants to stab him with it, all the alcohol in her blood making her more explosive, violent, raw.

It doesn’t lead to anywhere. Nothing good comes from their sessions, the free hatred, the violence. Their chaos only leads to more chaos, but its inevitable, because he simply _knows_ all her weak spots, and she’s fucking tired of being the mature one, the “grown up”, ignoring him, his words, his actions, his looks.

Butch’s exactly what she most despises in the world, and yet…

“I’m _not_ a good girl.” She hisses through gritted teeth, clenching her jaw so hard it might break before he even touches her, and he’s got that glint on his eye, _that fucking glint_ , that smug face, she’s about to lose it all.

“I know you’re not. That’s why I like you.” He nuzzles his nose on her throat, and Buttercup wants to cry from desperation, because at the same time he sickens her out of her mind, he’s the only one that makes her blood boil in excitement.

She swallows with difficulty, throat suddenly dry, at his confession. For a second her mind wanders to a world where she can have the same her sisters have with his brothers, where they don’t want to kill each other even after the truce proposed by HIM himself, and a tine mewl comes from her when he presses the thigh on her a little more.

“No one’s gotta know. Just me and you.” He proposes. Anyone looking from outside, without superhearing, could swear they’re about to kiss, no more than an inch between their faces, how flushed Buttercup’s cheeks are, how intense Butch’s gaze is.

The fun fact is that he doesn’t do that to anyone besides her. Butch only picks a fight with her, says he dreams of killing her, destroying her, and does nothing besides that. His purpose at life, again, is making her life a living hell; with his friends (that ended up being _her_ friends, too) he’s actually nice, funny, even with Blossom or Bubbles.

At the same time, he says those things to her. Blossom would say its sexual harassment. And Buttercup hates it, hates it so fucking much, that every word that comes from his mouth with sexual intentions makes her weak, an unholy response immediately felt on her insides, between her legs, that clouds her mind, not letting space for anything or anyone besides Butch, and cheeks flushed, just like she is in this very moment.

She doesn’t know if he would ever do _that_ – she wonders that maybe he would be one billion times worse by having her pinning under him – but the curiosity takes better of her thoughts, sometimes.

Butch’s thing is Buttercup, just like Buttercup’s thing is Butch.

And drunk the way she is - and she bets he is, too - they really can’t blame anyone but themselves. Them, with desire to destroy, to hurt, inside their veins, him being a little more uncontrolled, evil in the pure sense of the word, _son of the fucking Devil himself_ , and her greyish-ness, light and darkness fighting inside of her mind, needing only a small trigger to unleash terrible damage, how Blossom once told her that in some days, some moments, she’s seeing the fourth Rowdyruff, just by the way she punches, rips, explodes, how her expression darkens.

“Everyone will know. It’s impossible.” She remembers him, and he smirks widely, _wild_ , like a fucking animal, and she shivers, feeling the aura he’s exhaling, how he knows he convinced her.

She’s ashamed she’s so weak, so easy to disturb.

Blossom and Brick don’t do this anymore.

Bubbles and Boomer? Never did.

But there is no way, there is no solution, they will have to solve it the only way they know - through the path of pain.

“Buttercup.” Butch’s voice is like a knife, tearing his throat and penetrating her heart.

“Butch.” She says, equally dangerous, snarling and showing part of the teeth like a rabid dog, lowering the broken bottle on the ground, its noise ignored by everyone in the room, the beer wetting her calf and sneakers. He licks his lips, eyes from the first time leaving hers just for a second to her mouth.

“Fuck, I love when you’re pissed.” He whispers so low she can only hear with her superhearing, and it makes her cheeks tinge in red, her pulse race, adrenaline filling her veins, skin so hot her sweat is starting to evaporate, along with the alcohol. “Drives me fucking crazy when you’re mad at me.”

Buttercup laughs, moving her face a little forward, ghosting her lips over his, and Butch growls, showing teeth. She can feel his heart beating on his chest against her, how her skin burns where he touches, his thigh is slowly moving side to side, and wonders how on Earth no one saw them like that yet. Buttercup should feel desperate to get out of his grip, but the truth is – she isn’t. Not anymore.

She licks his teeth, and before he captures her lips, she looks up, her own devilish smile, making him bite her neck instead. “Easy there, Shark Boy.”

They never kissed. Buttercup trembles just to imagine what would happen if they crossed that line.

And in the end, it’s really sexy, the teasing. She feels that. He probably feels, too. It’s pure flesh and blood, and bones, and pain, and mad desire to hurt, at the same time the primal carnal desire is palpable, so heavy in the air you could feel it on your skin; it’s their own sick way of dealing with each other – she’s not even a little bit religious, but he’s definitely sin in person.

Because there’s no way she can’t still stop thinking about Butch, about those forest green eyes, how that expression makes her belly twist and her breath stuck in her lungs, and Buttercup would probably _die_ before telling anyone that all that environment they created around themselves is arousing as hell, what keeps her awake in the nights, why she sometimes takes so long in baths _._

It disgusts her. It’s sick, and wrong, God, so terribly wrong, like a drug.

She’s addicted to his violence, to his fury. She hates him more than anything in the world, but he gives her what she craves the most.

That feeling.

Only Butch knows that feeling.

Buttercup’s mind is debating. The wolfs inside of her are fighting, and the evil one is winning, right now, and Buttercup knows that later she’ll close in the shell, like Bubbles likes to call it, when the adrenaline in her body ends and she reaches the trough level, making her exhausted, and regretful.

She’s not like that. She swears, every time, that is the last time. She won’t, she can’t, fight him like that anymore. He brings the worst in her.

She’s a fucking Powerpuff Girl, she’s with the good guys.

But Butch’s too is like the worst drug in the planet. Buttercup can’t help losing control around him – purely addiction.

“Fight me.” He says again. “I know you want it as bad as I do.”

His eyes are scanning her face, carefully.

“You’re really turned on today.” She manages to smirk, her most frightful one, that makes every villain in Townsville go around on their heels and run far away.

Butch slowly nods. “You’re the one that does that to me.”

Buttercup can’t help but feel an animalistic sense of pride.

“Am I?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. Butch nods slowly, and she scraps his scalp with violence, making him smirk evilly again. “By the window. Upstairs.”

He finally lets her go, and the sudden loss of his body makes her a little sad, just a little. Buttercup looks around – no one seem to even care they’re there.

So, she walks to the stairs to the second floor. After a minute, Butch does too.

He opens the door of Harry’s room, and both thank God mentally that no one’s fucking in there. She enters first, opening his window, and floats to the night air. Butch follows her.

They share another intense look. Buttercup feels already embraced by the adrenaline, an excited laugh bubbling from her chest, and Butch snorts, the intensity on his eyes when directed to her always present.

“Fuck.” He whispers, and Buttercup bites her lip before the two of them fly into the sky in two green flashes of light.

They can’t help it.

_And the cry goes out (Oh!) / They lose their minds for us / And how it plays out (Oh!) / Now we're in the ring, and we're coming for blood/ You could try and take us / (Oh! Oh!) / But we're the gladiators / (Oh! Oh!) / Everyone a rager / (Oh! Oh!) / But secretly they're saviors / Glory and gore go hand in hand / That's why we're makin' headlines / (Oh! Oh!) / You could try and take us / (Oh! Oh!) / But victory's contagious_

In a matter of seconds, they’re sparring, in the middle of an empty parking lot, not too far away from the party.

Butch’s the one to hit first, and he gets her on the cheek, not so strongly at first, so she can punch him in the face too. He smirks, a gesture she copies, and shots an energy beam at her. The minimal distance is _terrible_ , and he makes sure to hold one of her arms to avoid her getting away from the blow – she screams as the heat burns her, raising her chin to the air to avoid burn her hair, and the hand he uses to blow grabs her left arm too, twisting it – one to the right, the other to the left – like someone would do to a damp towel, and the pain baffles her, like a lightning bolt, distracting her from doing anything. He raises her over his head to throw her, more than 10 meters from the ground, with enough strength to break the cement and send dust all over the air.

Buttercup’s outfit for the night is already ruined - her shirt is completely torn, her jeans are even more ripped when she raises from the crater that has her exact format, wiping the blood that’s coming from her lips and nose with the back of her hand, huffing and puffing, an arm uselessly pinning to her side, and just by looking at it she knows the bones inside are crushed.

Butch’s there, floating over her, dark green eyes now bright as a fucking lighthouse, shining fists and twisted expression.

She spits on the floor, making a little puddle of dark red, the smell of iron filling the air.

“Get up. I’m not done with you yet.” He barks, and she shots in his direction, hitting a punch that throws him more than miles away, shooting after him again, catching him just as he lands with his back on a building.

Her hands are on his neck, strangling him, and he gasps loudly for air, trying to punch her. She’s easily dodging each one of his blows, and he spits on her face, making Buttercup roar in hate, and she shoves her knee on his crotch, making Butch scream so loud she lets her grip loosen a bit. Tears are coming from the corner of his eyes, face distorted in real and absolute pain, and she chuckles, hitting him between the legs one more time – Butch this time widens his dark green eyes to her, desperate.

“Do _you_ think I’m done with you?”

Butch manages to put his hands on her throat too, but he’s in so much pain his grip is weak, and she bites his forearm, making him laugh – if the sound that escaped his mouth is indeed a laugh. She tightens her grip on him, pushing him further on the building wall, and his eyes left hers for a second to look at something behind her.

The feeling of fighting is so powerful that makes her slightly deaf, her sisters’ shouts a mere whisper on the background, and there’s blood coming from the corners of Butch’s mouth and ears, but he still has that sick smile on his face.

Butch’s hand gets her left arm, the one he crushed just minutes ago, twisting it, quickly, and she screams, too, feeling that the bones inside of her are turning into bran, while the other hand that was previously on her manages to hit a hook, and Buttercup lets him go, his body falling from the height of three floors to the ground.

The sound he makes while gasping for air makes Bubbles start crying, and Buttercup knows all their siblings are around them now, and she lets herself lower, feet pressing hard on the ground when she lands, waiting for him to recover a bit.

Butch’s sitting, back against the building wall, as some citizens shout on the windows over them, and coughs so much blood it impresses her how he’s still managing to be awake. His eyes come in and out of focus, glassy, blood coming from them, as coming from his ears, nose, mouth – his entire face is covered in dark red, again the smell of iron, and Buttercup’s so outraged by the results of her actions she freaks out – _I could have killed him, could have strangled him –_ that her stomach twirls, the amount of alcohol on her system wanting to crawl back up, her head spinning while she looks at him, hopelessly-

She hovers down and pukes, blood too on her vomit, and she hears a mixture of screams, some maybe from her sisters, maybe from the Ruffs, maybe from the people watching the scene.

It’s a path of no return.

Buttercup’s limbs are shaking, legs trembling like jello, her heart pumping loudly on her eardrums, but she can still hear the footsteps of her sisters approaching, and looks back at them, green eyes glomming, wiping the mixture of vomit and blood on the back of her hand.

“Buttercup.” Blossom says, low voice, approaching slowly, as someone would do with a wild animal, but it’s too late. She had taken a big amount of the _drug_ , after two months without it - relapse is always dangerous.

“Fucking shit.” Brick curses under his breath, looking at his brother, and Boomer himself can’t hide the repulse in his face.

Buttercup hears Butch raising from the ground, wiping the blood out of his face, licking it, and her right fist starts to glow, the left one still smashed, ready for the next shot. He already looks like shit, red scleras due the strangulation attempt, and her insides twist of anticipation.

She knows she’ll be looking the same way in just a matter of time.

“Ple-please, sto-stop!” Bubbles begs, sobbing and shaking violently with desperation, but Buttercup only has eyes for Butch and his evil expression.

“I think they won’t leave us alone.” He smirks, his voice hoarse and terrible, and she knows she probably smashed his vocal chords and his larynx. It makes her shiver.

“They never do.” She smirks back, doesn’t even caring that all of them can hear, both Puffs and Ruffs, and simply knows that when the peak passes she’ll regret every single decision she made that night, that her sisters were right, but her mind can’t think straight - she never thinks properly when the subject is Butch.

They exchange a knowing look and knee down on the ground to shoot up, so fast it mesmerizes their siblings, and disappear into the night air. They don’t know where they went, their favorite place to spar, and Bubbles falls into the ground, crying desperately, Boomer comforting her, while Brick and Blossom exchange horrified looks.

The dust rises frighteningly when they both land in the middle of the desert, a road separating them, earth cracking a bit with the impact of their feet, and Butch advances towards her, ruthlessly, insanely, and she screams in pain as her ribs break with the impact of his blow, vomiting a little bit of blood that gets onto his face, and he _loves_ it, licking it as it lands over his lips, pushing her body and making her land on the ground with a dull thud.

She groans, putting a hand over her chest, feeling the broken bones under the skin, and he laughs, that disgusting, vicious laugh of his, sending beams in her direction on the floor – Buttercup manages to avoid some of them, but not all, and they hit her in the belly, legs, almost in the face – she covers herself fast and the energy ends up burning the skin of her forearm, her teeth gritted.

“On your feet.” He demands, throat clearly sore, while she’s at the ground, coughing and groaning in pain, her short black hair plastered on her face due the sweat.

Buttercup points at him gesturing a gun and a fluorescent green laser explodes from her index finger, but he manages to avoid it with a dark green shield, sending the beam into her direction. She rolls sideways, coughing as the sand gets into her mouth and nose, and screams, since the contact of it with her bleeding mucous is at the same time disturbing and painful.

Butch flies into her quick, his fist glowing in dark green, and she points at him again, hitting him right in the middle of the chest, hurling him away, an _oof_ sound coming from his mouth when his sore back hits the ground again. She rams into him, throwing him against a rock, a hoarse cry of pain escaping his lips, and grabbing his throat again while punching his head against it – one, two, _three_ times – before he finally manages to hit a punch that immediately breaks her jaw (just like she thought about before), sending her flying, bouncing and rolling when she hits the dusty desert soil, unable to move for a minute due to excruciating pain.

He flies to her, landing at her sprawled body, and puts a foot on her throat, choking her a bit, while she gasps desperately for air, kicking her legs, and eyes rolling at the back of her head.

“You’ve got the hots for choking, dontcha?” Butch mumbles, face still wickedly distorted. Buttercup can’t avoid let out a strangled laugh, blood bubbling from her mouth as she does so.

Her scleras are turning red in the same way his was, and she mumbles something unintelligible at him before he raises his foot up, and she cries, oxygen finally filling her lungs in a painful way. He stays there, standing and looking at her, blocking the moonlight, the silence of the desert disturbed by her terrible cries.

His own head is hurting like hell, his arms and back and throat and limbs and pretty much every place on his body completely destroyed, and he’s breathing with difficulty, rasp, sharp breathes, blood dripping over Buttercup’s belly, mixing with hers from the scratches.

She cries just one more time before feeling her sore eyes warming up, and she hits him with her eyebeams, sending him meters up in the air, screaming, not even knowing where she’d hit him, and shoots into the air, going after him. She’s still so baffled from his last blow that she flies directly into a dark green shield that sends her back into the ground, exactly the same thing that happened on the parking lot, and she _yells_ , so loud he has to fly down at her.

Now not only her ribs are smashed but she’s sure she has some internal bleeding too.

He laughs, weirdly like she did, and she opens one eye to look at him, tears blurring her vision.

It’s beautiful, she thinks. He’s beautiful like that, and she’s so happy it just makes her sick – she’s so alive, she’s feeling incredible, even that all her energy is almost done and the X is probably struggling to deal with the amount of damage he’d done to her.

He’s got his nails deep onto her skin. She can never get enough of the sensation he provokes on her.

Buttercup manages to sit up, and Butch extends a hand to her, which she grabs, trying to stand – but in fact, she just pulls him over her, unbalancing him, and he falls over her body, both screaming in pain as they make contact, and laughing after that.

_Delicate in every way but one (the swordplay) / God knows we like archaic kinds of fun (the old ways) / Chance is the only game I play with, baby / We let our battles choose us_

“Do you wanna take a break?” Butch asks, taking deep breaths. His weight over her is awful, but she likes it that way.

“Maybe a little bit, yeah.” Buttercup answers, coughing blood again. Butch wipes it from her mouth with the back of his hand. “How are you doing?”

“You fucked me up. Good.” He laughs, out of breath, rolling off her.

The desert is again in silence, just the restrained breaths coming from their mouths, and Buttercup feels absolutely _amazing._ She looks at Butch, that has his eyes closed, frowning, probably feeling the X working in his veins, and almost can’t restrain the sigh that escapes her lips.

He’s so handsome her chest hurts. Destroyed, absolute chaos, the heavy smell of blood filling her nostrils, his dark hair crazy, drenched in sweat and blood, the parts of his skin that are burned, clothes ruined.

She thinks she might be just like him. Every part of her hurts, like fuck, like never before, and Buttercup realizes she can’t stay away from him that longer. The longer they stay away from each other, the worst is the damage they make when reunited.

Again. Maybe this is what addiction feels like. Maybe the druggies from the outside of the town, the ones that are always shoplifting and taking people’s wallets to buy more drug, feel that way.

Buttercup doesn’t know if Butch feels the same. If is that magical and exciting thing that is for her, if his skin itches when she’s around, something happening on his stomach just like hers when he shows his teeth, feral, and if he really dreams of her.

Because she does. Sometimes they’re fighting, sometimes is something else. She feels grossed out just to think about it when she’s not under his effect, but at that very moment, other than the pain, she can feel herself hot.

Butch opens one eye to look at her. She keeps staring. He laughs again after a couple seconds, not the sick evil laugh, but his normal one, and with some struggle lay on his side, just to watch her.

“Like what you see?” he asks, examining his damage on her. There’s a big burn on her belly and her arm, the other looking weirdly flat due the bones smashed, and there’s dry blood coming from her nose and the corners of her eyes. The red on her scleras, contrasting to the neon green from her irises, bewitch him, and he simply can’t look away.

“A lot.” She whispers, throat really burning, and the party seems so far away now, like another life, like it didn’t even happen. The cold wind of the desert passes by them and the sand in contact with all their open wounds make both cringe and sigh. Buttercup puts a hand, the one that’s not ruined, over his chest, feeling his heart.

_And the cry goes out (Oh!) / They lose their minds for us / And how it plays out (Oh!) / Now we're in the ring, and we're coming for blood/ You could try and take us / (Oh! Oh!) / But we're the gladiators / (Oh! Oh!) / Everyone a rager / (Oh! Oh!) / But secretly they're saviors / Glory and gore go hand in hand / That's why we're makin' headlines / (Oh! Oh!) / You could try and take us / (Oh! Oh!) / But victory's contagious_

They spar for a little more. Once the X makes some effect, Buttercup’s jaw is not broken anymore, and some of Butch’s wounds are closed, but his throat is purple, bruised, and his voice is almost inaudible. He stands with more difficulty than she does, a little dizzy, because she smashed his skull against solid rocks and buildings more than once.

The fight is not like the previous one. The attacks are slower, and they don’t even fly, preferring to keep some energy to heal themselves, so after a couple minutes it turns into a fist fight.

“Hit me in the face.” Butch tells her, signing her to come closer to him. Buttercup laughs.

“Your face is completely destroyed, asshole. Do you want me to punch it?” she asks, and he nods. “Okay.”

She blows her fist into his right cheek, more blood coming from it, and she’s really impressed that he didn’t pass out due the amount of blood loss. Butch falls on the ground like a dead weight, and Buttercup waits, knowing she’ll be the one receiving the next one and kissing the ground.

Butch goes for her stomach. She throws up blood, too, and falls on her back, while he pants. She tries not to think of the pain, but now it’s a little annoying, and she fells her limbs like candy worms when she gets up.

“Another.” Butch asks, rolling his shoulders to get loose.

It’s difficult to punch him with her right hand, since she’s left-handed, but her arm is still ruined, so she does her best and hits him with an uppercut, not that hard, but he falls anyways.

Butch hits a punch on her ear, and Buttercup screams, because her ears are full of piercings, and she curses him loudly, ignoring the way her vocal chords seem to rip apart when she does so.

“Fuck, man, why in the ear? Holy fucking shit!”

“You moved when I was about to hit you!” he smirks, but his knuckles are bright dark red, and he shakes his hand discreetly, trying to ignore the pain himself.

They continue until Butch falls into the ground, face down, and do not gets up. Buttercup starts to worry just a tiny bit, and kneels beside him. Her superhearing can still hear his heart and what is left of blood on his veins. He doesn’t move, on the other hand, and his breathing is weak.

She puts a hand between his scapulas, and he finally does something – growls – which is a good sign. She lays down on her side next to him, and sighs, eyes closed, hand still in the same place.

“I won.” Buttercup manages to speak; now that she spent too much time without doing it properly, her throat is burning in pain.

Butch rolls with great difficulty to his side, facing her, and her hand falls between them. His eyes are so swollen she barely can see them, but here they are, the emerald green orbs fitting her intensely like always. They shift a little down, and Butch smiles gradually.

“No, I won.” He whispers, voice husky and painful to the ears. “You don’t wear bras?”

Buttercup looks down. At that position, her breasts are smushed, and her shirt is burn and ripped, at the size of those cropped shirts Bubbles like to wear so much, and the cold breeze of the desert made her nipples rigid.

“Nah, they bother me.” She whispers back, and pokes his chest playfully. “Pervert.”

Butch tries to laugh, but a little bit of blood comes from the side of his mouth and he shakes a little. Buttercup doesn’t know why, but she puts her hand on his face, cupping it, and he flinches for a second before accepting the touch, like a hurt animal would do. Her hand is so soft and light against his face he finds it weird.

“I could swear that your hands were like a mechanic’s.” Butch says, and she shows it to him. Her nails aren’t long, but neither short, and long elegant fingers, like a piano player. She has a dark polish on, a little chapped.

“I’m still a girl, y’know.” Buttercup frowns, mock-offended.

“Didn’t look like one when you broke all my ribs.” He said, again trying to laugh, but coughing instead.

“You’re the one saying that you imagined me being spanked. Like you didn’t know I’m a girl.” Buttercup recalls, and Butch’s cheeks would be visibly flushed if they weren’t covered in blood.

“I wasn’t fucking around, I do.” He confesses, and Buttercup rolls her eyes, hands back to his face, brushing a little of his hair out of his swollen eyes. “The only one I imagine doing things like that.”

_No-one 'round here's good at keepin' their eyes closed / The sun's startin' to light up when we're walking home /Tired little laughs, gold-lie promises / We'll always win at this, I don't ever think about death / It's alright if you do, it's fine / We gladiate, but I guess we're really fighting ourselves / Roughin' up our minds, so we're ready when the kill time comes / Wide awake in bed, words in my brain / "Secretly you love this, do you even wanna go free?" / Let me in the ring, I'll show you what that big word means_

The sun begins to shine and the brightness blinds them for a second. Butch can’t see properly with his eyes in the way they are, and Buttercup’s suddenly absolutely tired, like never before. She sits up, brushing a little of the sand out of her hair, and knows she’ll regret all of this in maybe an hour or two, because the adrenaline is still on her veins and she’s still shaking with it, vision a little blurred and full of euphoria and the typical serotonin that comes after exercising.

Because, after all, this is kinda like exercising.

“Looks like you’re about to regret.” Butch speaks. The X is doing some healing, but he’s still plastered on the floor, barely breathing.

“Not yet.” Buttercup sighs, looking at him. “We really fucked each other pretty damn well, today.”

“Not in the fun way.” He immediately says, making Buttercup grin, not bothering to hit him in any way. “But yeah, I thought I would die.”

A tiny knot forms on her throat. She tries not to think about death when she’s fighting, with anyone. Death is what make things interesting, that makes it all worthwhile. And Buttercup does not fear death. She knows it will come for her, any day, even more doing what she does, which is to take risks every day for a city and for its citizen. Knowing and not fearing death is what makes you see things more clearly.

Not that she wants it forever. She does not.

But fighting Butch is something that she could do forever. Without a single doubt.

“Sorry.” She apologizes. “Not my intention to kill you.”

“To die…” Butch coughs a little, his body shaking violently, and sighs. She frowns. “By your side, is such a heavenly way to die.”

Buttercup widens her smile. “The pleasure, the privilege is mine.” she completes, and Butch nods, tapping the ground until he finds her right hand.

She tries to ignore her heart beating fast against her ribs. _It’s because of the adrenaline,_ she tries to fool herself, even knowing that is not.

The sun is a little higher in the sky when Butch finally manages to sit down, arms and back and hair full of sand. Buttercup helps him, and feels the arm he crushed starting to heal, that tingling of bones being reconstructed so familiar to her.

“Brick’s going to eat me alive.” He speaks. His voice is a little less rough, but still hoarse.

“Blossom is going to have kittens. Professor is going to ground me for months. Maybe until the prom.” Buttercup sighs. The peak is gone, now. She remembers all the things she has to do, the band practices, the shows, the competitions, the volleyball, the parties, their prom. “Maybe I won’t even be able to go.”

“What a shame. I was thinking of asking you.” Butch tries to smirk, and she notices he doesn’t have a bit of his upper lip anymore, and that his teeth are showing.

“Fuck you.” Buttercup spats, a little resentful. She knows no guy is going to ask her to prom, but she wanted to drink some booze on school grounds for the first time (legally), maybe the band would even play.

“What? I was!” Butch says, one of his eyes a little less swollen. His X is working pretty fast. “There’s no other girl I would invite.”

“Oh, c’mon. You can get inside anyone’s pants.” Buttercup rolls her eyes, moving a little so the sun doesn’t get into her face. The heat warms her, and she notices how there’s many puddles of blood around them, and her clothes are soaked. The iron smell is strong in the air.

“Doesn’t mean I will. You know you’re the only one really worth it in that fucking city.”

She shivers.

“We have to return.” Buttercup changes the subject, almost interrupting, not looking at him, but to her arm, still tingling. “Clean those wounds. Take a fucking bath. God, I’m disgusting.”

“I think you look pretty damn fine.” Butch says, and again Buttercup rolls her eyes, trying more than anything not to smile. “You still share bedroom with your sisters?”

She widens her eyes, surprised that he remembers that detail. Maybe some of his brothers told him. “Yeah.”

“Wanna come to my place? I have my own bathroom.” He offers, and Buttercup looks so quickly to him that her neck snaps, and she grunts. “I’m not attacking you, for real, I’m shit right now.”

“Your brothers.” She reminds him, and the grin on his face fades.

“Right. Yeah.”

The sun is fully rise now. The air isn’t cold anymore, but heavy and sticky, and the hotness of the desert starts bothering Buttercup. The drug effects are long gone, and all she wants to do is faint somewhere, maybe even the ground, and just stay immobile until the X cures her completely. She tries not to think about the death of her social life, or the evident disappointment in her father’s face, nor her sisters. Bubbles crying her lungs out from the night flashes into her mind and Buttercup suddenly feels about to throw up.

This is absolutely fucked up. Wrong. Sick. Wicked. Why she’s the one to succumb so easily to chaos? Why is she the one who has such a dubious character, that is so weak, incapable of resisting the temptation?

She scratches her broken arm, nails digging on the skin, blood coming out of it due the strength. Butch just looks. Maybe he knows what is she thinking about, but he definitely doesn’t feel the same. He isn’t a Powerpuff Girl, after all.

Dirty. She feels dirty, filthy, immoral, wants to crawl into a hole and disappear.

If the after is so bad, why does she keep doing this shit?

She knows the answer to this. Is the same reason addicted use drugs day after day. The during is _amazing_ , and the moment just before, the expectation, is great.

Except that her drug isn’t a substance. Is a person.

“I know a place.” Butch mutters, interrupting her thoughts. He gets up, extending his hand to her.

_I’m already fucked up. What difference that makes?_

Buttercup takes it. He smiles weakly at her, and she does, too. How could she not? He’s the only one that makes her feel alive.

It’s a motel, on the road. The receptionist almost screams when see them, completely covered in blood, and hurt, and scolds Butch, calling him by Tyler. Buttercup is curious about how they know each other, but considering the times they fought in the desert and how she never stayed after to see what he did, she doesn’t ask, assuming he just came down here to rest. The old woman gives them clean clothes, and Buttercup smiles at her, the eyes of the lady full of concern.

“Is this your girlfriend?” she asks, and Butch looks down at Buttercup.

The fake memory of a world they don’t feel the urge to kill each other returns to her mind, her chest tightening with the possibility of being something _else_ to him, besides a punching bag or a potential hole to put his dick inside.

“Yeah.” Buttercup nods, and Butch puts an arm over her shoulder. Right now, it feels like it weights a ton, but again, she doesn’t mind.

“What’s your name, darling?” the old lady asks. “I need to put on the records, here.”

Buttercup looks up to Butch, and he smirks. “Annie.” She says, the first name that comes into her mind.

He pays for a single room. Buttercup’s so tired she doesn’t even complain. She takes the bath first, washing herself with only a hand, while her other arm will take at least a few days to fully recover. She looks down at the blood, dissolving with the water and going down the drain, and washes her hair at least three times, until she can no longer smell it.

Buttercup examines her face on the mirror. Her mouth is plump, bruised, swollen; there’s a deep cut on her brow, jaw in a weird green and yellow color where she was hit so many times, neck bruised, red eyes. Her nose is sensitive, the blood only stopping moments ago.

She gets a little of the mint mouthwash – it burns, and she refrains a scream, hissing, but the wounds inside her mouth need to be cleaned - and puts on the big shirt the woman gave to her.

She collapses at the bed with a grunt, feeling pain. Butch goes to the bathroom, and she passes out, without even reaching the pillows.

Buttercup wakes up as he lays down on the bed, using pants but no shirt. She thinks that maybe it was a pair. Their bloody clothes are discarded on the bathroom floor.

She’s really awake when he curls behind her, resting his chin over her shoulder, hugging her from behind. Butch’s warm, really is, and his face is a little better, damp spiky hair on the pillow, mixing with hers.

“Did you like it?” he asks, voice still hoarse, but now maybe isn’t due the strangulation. His breath in her neck makes Buttercup still, aware, fighting a shiver.

“I wish I didn’t.” she responds sincerely. Butch nuzzles his nose on her cheek.

“You love this. That. Us.” He says. It’s a fact. He’s not giving her opportunity to disagree. She won’t. “Me and you, we’re the same. We’re born for this.”

“For how long?” Buttercup asks. She wants to cry, and hopes he doesn’t notice it. Her throat hurt from restraining the sobs, her body aches, but her lower abdomen, it’s on fire. She curls her toes, and Butch moves behind her, hugging her closer to him.

“As long as you want.” He says. She feels his sharp teeth over her neck, the same place he bit on the party, and shudders. “Or we could change something.”

Again, Buttercup wonders _what if_. What if they crossed the line?

Would he be even more violent if she was under him?

Or…

Buttercup turns to face Butch. Only one of his eyes is swollen now; the other one is a little purple, but pretty much normal. There are cuts on his face, his teeth still showing where there’s not upper lip ( _that might leave a scar_ , she thinks), neck purple like hers, cuts and burns all over his torso.

She still finds him handsome that way.

“I dare you.” Butch whispers. Buttercup has kinda a déjà vu.

“Wanna fight?” she asks, and gets over her, pressing her against the mattress with his body. Déjà vu. She involuntarily opens her legs to welcome him between them, crossing them on his lower back.

He doesn’t answer. His green eyes, so bright. They’re always so shiny, so intense. Mesmerize her. Déjà vu.

Buttercup remembers what he said in the desert, about dying. Looking at his eyes, she agrees mentally that, indeed, there’s a light that never goes out.

“Maybe this way they won’t get mad at us.” Butch says. “But you can’t punch me.”

Buttercup laughs. She’s still sore, and bets he is, too. But that doesn’t seem to interrupt the blood of his body to go down between his legs.

“Indeed, maybe that’s a better way to solve our problems.”

Butch taps her thigh, and she opens her legs as he lowers himself, raising up her shirt.

“Buttercup… _Fuck_.”

She knows she’s ready, already.

The world without wanting to kill, is starting to get real. Maybe.

“Show me what you’ve got.” Buttercup whispers, and Butch smiles.

He does. She screams, but is not from pain.

_You could try and take us / (Oh! Oh!) / But we're the gladiators / (Oh! Oh!) / Everyone a rager / (Oh! Oh!) / But secretly they're saviors / Glory and gore go hand in hand / That's why we're makin' headlines / (Oh! Oh!) / You could try and take us / (Oh! Oh!) / But victory's contagious_

**Author's Note:**

> Does anyone writes songfics anymore? Oh, the good ol' days when there were tons of songfics out there.
> 
> Have you ever heard the album "Pure Heroine", by Lorde? I did it so many times (184 times, my Last.fm says) and it was one of my favorite albums when I was in high school. I think this song, "Glory and Gore", is perfect for this couple. If you never listened, I recomend.
> 
> There's referrence to "There's a Light that Never Goes Out", by The Smiths, only because while I was writing that specific part the shuffle started playing it, and I was like... Oh God, this is some mystical forces communicating with me.
> 
> Hope you like it! Thanks for reading!


End file.
